


Pretend

by moonbeamkid



Category: Rock Music RPF, The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Temporary Amnesia, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-25 07:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14972429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeamkid/pseuds/moonbeamkid
Summary: "Bit cloudy." Mike said, taking a sip of his coffee. Davy finally looked at him, regretting it as his eyes landed on the black eye, trailing down to the hickey on his neck. Mike looked out the window. He watched the people bustling around as though he was above them. He probably was.





	1. The Weather & Daisy

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first Monkees fanfic! This fanfic is unbeta'd and some of the facts may not match up. I haven't written fanfiction, period, in over two years. Please let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are lovely!

 

                                   Davy stared at a grain of salt on the booth table, hands clasped together under the table. He could hear Mike stirring his coffee cup opposite him. They hadn't made eye contact since waking up, but somehow managed to follow each other to the same diner. Cursed to sit at the same table. Unsure of what to do with this disaster before them. A curvy waitress with long eyelashes walked up to them. Davy winked at her and she smiled. He could imagine himself getting lost in her femininity, drowning in her skin, desperate to hold onto his manhood. 

"What can I get you two?" She asked with a thick New Jersey accent. Davy didn't look to his coworker, just ordered some pancakes. Mike ordered something gaudy and large, as if trying to prove he could eat it. Davy doubted it but didn't say anything. The waitress, Daisy, nodded and took their untouched menus with her.  
Davy nearly jumps out of his skin when Mike says something. Although it isn't anything he would have expected, or rather, dreaded. 

"Bit cloudy." Mike said, taking a sip of his coffee. Davy finally looked at him, regretting it as his eyes landed on the black eye, trailing down to the hickey on his neck. Mike looked out the window. He watched the people bustling around as though he was above them. He probably was. 

"Mike." Davy said, embarrassed by the shakiness of his tone. Mike's eyes followed the table back to his coffee cup. Masterful in his avoidance. 

"Mike." Davy said again. Mike eyes meet his, white knuckling his coffee cup. Davy felt a wave of relief wash over him, finding the same loss and shame to match his own. He didn't like the imp of the perverse, threading through somewhere in the back of his mind. "Touch him. You want to. He's hurting. Touch him. Just touch him." But mission controls take over, banishing it with a mantra of "Fag". 

"I can't." The crack in Mike's voice sets off a atomic bomb inside Davy. Davy looks down at his coffee. 

"We have to talk about what we-" 

"Alright! Pancakes and the Texas Breakfast. Can I get you boys anything else?" Daisy asked, looking between the two pale young men. Davy shook his head. 

"No, thanks, love." He smiled, hoping it came off less pathetic than it felt. Daisy smiled back with a small furrow to her brow, telling him it was just as if not more. Mike picked up his fork and knife, utensils clanking against the plate as he cut a steak. He stuffed his mouth with a bite of grizzled meat. Davy made sure Daisy was gone before he turned his attention back to Mike. 

"Do you know what we took?" Davy asked, shoving his pancakes away. Mike glared at him, chomping noisely. 

"You know, I just remembered. It's a new swell drug. Makes ya' feel super." Mike said, his sarcastic tone worse than his table etiquette. 

"Come on, you don't have to be like this. We're both at fault here-" Mike snorted. Davy's hand turned into a fist. If he wasn't feeling like a sex offender, he would have given Mike another black eye. 

           "We just pretend it never happened." He looked at Davy pointedly, but he couldn't keep it for longer than a few seconds. He returned his attention to the world outside the diner window. 

"I can't fuckin' forget it!" Davy quipped. Mike's eyes shot from the window to the people around them. Nobody seemed to care, but Davy could tell Mike didn't think so. 

"Will you keep your damn mouth shut?" Mike hissed. 

"We wouldn't have come here together if we weren't going to talk this out! I can't just forget it, Mike! We had-" Mike slammed his fist on the table, rattling the mugs and bringing a few patrons eyes to them. 

"Don't say it." 

"You can't even look at me. I don't even know if you consented!" Davy whispered, pleading with him. Mike took another large bite of meat. It looked impossible to swallow. 

"It don't matter." He said, muffled by the wad of cow. He took a large gulp of coffee. How could it not matter? Davy wanted to scream and cry, upturn the table and get himself arrested for disturbing the peace. He was terrified and ashamed, but he found no help in the person he once considered a good friend. 

"How can you say that?" Davy croaked. 

"If I didn't want-If I didn't. I would have pummeled you." Mike said, taking another sip of coffee. Davy did find solace in that. He leaned back, stuffing his hands back under the table. It didn't fix any of their problems. Made some of them worse. 

"You...you wanted to?" Davy asked. That was apparently the breaking point his friend. He slid out of the booth and towards the door with such speed, it made Davy jump. He wanted to throw some twenties down on the table and chase after him. But what good would that bring them? He stared at the spot where Mike once sat, at the unfinished Texan Breakfast. He slid the plate over, feeling oddly numb. He cut a bit of the meat off and stabbed it with his fork. 

           Daisy walked over and made a remark on his "bud" leaving. He told her he had somewhere to be and winked. All according to plan, she told him she was almost done with her shift. And like a drowning man, desperate for land, Davy left the restaurant with his arm around her curvy waist.


	2. Stars & Tearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, yay! We’ve got some more angst on our hands. I wanted to thank groovy-sideburns for their comment that motivated me to finish! There is mention of the “black room” which if you don’t know, was kind of a hang out place for the Monkees when they were working on set. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! As always kudos and comments are appreciated!

 

Davy walked onto set, hiding from the Los Angeles sun through thick sunglasses. Daisy was "far out", as Micky would say. She looked wholesome enough; but in her psychedelic haven stashed above a Jewish deli, she was anything but. Peter was the first monkee to see him, his blond brows shooting up as he spotted him. He gave a mischievous grin, decievingly similar to the innocent one of his monkee persona. 

"You look like me." Peter beamed. Davy gave him the finger to which he shook like a hand. 

He could remember being smothered in Daisy's breasts, sedated by something sweet on her lips. A pleasurable nightmare, being pulled into her and ripped out every moment he remembered raven hair. The black soot sprinkled down his mate's body, flowing into a pond of coarse curls. Hers were ginger. Ginger. Not black. 

Jesus, he'd turned into a fucking poet. 

 "The key to super dope is more." Pete sighed as he filled a plate full of fruit. Davy walked over to a silver plate of pancakes and started nibbling on one. 

 "Davy baby!" Micky hollered from across the studio. Davy choked on a bit of pancake. Mike said that, hadn't he? Micky was bright eyed and bushy tailed, a childlike smile on his face that shrunk the closer he got to Davy. Was he that fucking obvious in his misery? 

 "Hey man, you alright?" He asked, patting Davy's shoulder. In his usual Micky fashion, he didn't pull his hand away but kept it there. As if he knew Davy needed something to keep him there. 

 "I fear our dreamboat's gone mute." Peter tisked, plopping a grape in his mouth. 

 "I wish." Davy croaked. He immediately regretted speaking before  tea, both Monkees looking equally worried. 

Before Davy could argue his state of health, mental or physical, Mike dashed by as if he hadn't seen the three of them. Top notch acting, mate, Davy thought. Micky wiped his head from Mike disappearing into the black room back to Davy.

 "Did I step onto the Twilight Zone by accident?" Micky squeaked. Micky raised his eyebrows, expecting answers from Davy. 

“Everything is the Twilight Zone.” Pete stated. Micky rolled his eyes. 

“Listen man, I don’t know what his problem is. All I know is it has nothing to do with me.” Davy lied. His mate squinted his eyes in scrutiny. Davy replied to his expression with a pancake to his face. 

-

“What the fuck happened to your face, Nesmith?!” Bob hollered. They were in between scenes when Mike took off his sunglasses. He must have forgotten what he was trying to hide underneath them. The black eye had swelled since Davy saw it last. The skin around it had turned a ugly shade of yellow and purple. 

“Thank god you’re not the heart throb.” Micky teased. Davy waited for the dirty look Mike would give him, usually before something like a noogie. Mike was always touchy on the subject of Davy’s marketable good looks. Strange...the things you miss. Mike didn’t respond, he cleaned his glasses with his shirt and put them back on.

The lack of a response from Mike must not have sat well with Micky as he pressed on, “How’d you get that?” 

“It ain’t none of your business, Mick.” Mike said, lacking any of the heat that would get all of them shouting at one another. 

“Alright! Cameras on, boys!” Bob shouted. 

-

Davy sat in the black room, letting his body seep into the velvet sofa. He’d been nursing a joint all by his lonesome, wishing he could disappear into the sofa. Fall into the cushions and find himself in another galaxy. Maybe if he sunk lower... 

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Mike stormed in, saw Davy and stormed back out. It took him a moment to process what had happened. He was obviously blazed, he couldn’t explain why he had to follow after him. He just did. He got up quickly, taking a moment to still the world that spun around him. He ran out of the black room and after Mike. 

“Mike!” Davy screamed. He saw Mike run out of the studio, slamming the door behind him. 

“Davy, what’s going on, man?!” Micky hollered as Davy chased after his once mate, ripping the door open. He almost ran into a set backdrop of space. Ironic. 

He went right, following the green hat, poking out through a sea of astronauts and can-can dancers. What kind of fucking movie needed space boys and prostitutes?! 

“Mike! Stop!!” Davy screamed, wincing at the pain it caused. He accidentally knocked some guy’s space helmet off, turning to apologize when a hand gripped his arm. He tried to catch his breath enough to say something intelligent but what little breath was caught was shoved out as his back hit a metal wall. Mike had dragged him in between two studios so fast, he had to blink a couple times. Mike looked downright furious. 

“M-Mike, Mike, we-we’ve gotta talk-“ 

“Will you stop fucking yellin’?!” 

“They’ll all find out with you acting like this!” Davy ground out. “Fucking act like you can stand me or just talk to me!” 

“And what’s talkin’ gonna do, Davy?! Huh? We ain’t gettin’ a noble prize for having a heart to heart!” Mike hissed, eyes wild with fear and anger. 

“We’ve already had a fucking heart to heart! We’ve had sex!” Mike reacted as expected, looking around as if there were Tigerbeats journalists hidden in fake bushes. 

“We’ve had sex, Mike. I keep getting flashes of what we’ve done. Over and over and over again!” 

“I don’t want to know.” Mike’s eyes were nothing but black orbs, pulsating with emotions. It would have made Davy shut up before...before. 

“You came untouched. You had me in-“ he saw white, feeling pain sing on his jaw. 

“It didn’t happen! It didn’t fucking happen!” Mike screamed, eyes shinning. His voice watery, clogged with cries Mike never would let free. It rattled something deep inside Davy. He lifted his hand, letting temptation take over. 

His fingers brushed Mike’s cheek, feeling stubble under his fingerprints. Their breath was labored, Mike paralyzed as he stood inches from Davy’s face. Davy noticed their breathing seemed to synchronize. Their souls matched in all emotions and thought. It could have been a few seconds or ten minutes, lost in their moment of allowing the Imp of the perverse to have its way. 

As Mike stepped away, it felt like stars in a constellation being torn apart. It terrified him. 

Mike left and Davy didn’t chase after him. Mike leaving him confused and hurt was becoming a pattern. He didn’t have Daisy as a bandaid and became horrifyingly aware of how tight his pants were. Shame covered him like dust in a antique store, making him feel dirty. He looked up to the sky, not a cloud in sight. He felt like it was laughing at him. 


	3. Memories & Acting

_Mike's skin was like the fresh smell of peonies. Davy ran his lips down the patchy chest to a quivering torso. The high pitched vocals of "Salesman" came to mind as he bit the skin above his belly button. It had always affected him, sending chills down his spine. In a quiet place, deep within, he knew it was more than just the music. It was Mike. How Mike sang it. How he looked. It was all Mike. His mantra. Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike..._

_"Davy!" Mike gasped as he gripped Mike's thighs. He groaned, begging to whatever higher power was listening, praying to hear Mike call his name just like that for the rest of his life. He gripped his pale thighs harder and moved lower. Davy stole a breath as he prepared himself. He hadn't done this before. He quivered at the thick sent in Mike's curls, coarser than the hair on his head. He kissed down and Mike's knees knocked together, locking Davy in place. He looked up, expecting Mike to be covering his eyes. Black orbs stared back at him, half covered by his bangs. He kept Mike's gaze as he licked the tip of his cock, eyebrows furrowing at the saltiness. His lover whined and it spurred him on. He let go of one of Mike's thighs and placed a arm across Mike's hips to keep him in control. Then he took Mike into his mouth._

_For someone whose never done it before, he was quite pleased with the reaction he was getting. Mike couldn't choose between his hair and the sheets, finally putting a death grip on the headboard above them. Somewhere far off in the sober part of his brain, red alarms were going off. Messages crossfiring, demanding answers. "What are you doing?" "This can't be done!" "Stop before it's too late!" "He'll never love you..." "Phyllis!"Oh lord, what about Phyllis?!"_

_Before his sober mind could catch up, Mike pulled him from his member. Davy blushed at the obscene pop sound. He rubbed himself against the mattress, trying to relieve some of the pressure. He watched his peony, the way his rib cage lifted shakily as he forced himself to take a few deep breaths. It was downright poetic._

_"Can I..." Davy whispered. Mike looked down to him once more. His eyebrows lifted in question. Davy moved the hand planted under his thigh higher up. He reached Mike's perineum and stopped. Mike somehow managed to blush more and Davy had half a mind to lick them, see if they felt hot against his tongue. But he didn't want to break the trance they seemed to be under, so he slowly pushed further down. He couldn't read Mike's expression, unsure what he thought of taking this to the final tier. He paused once more, just before Mike's entrance and waited for word, confirmation, anything._

_Mike spread his legs farther and Davy felt like he'd been granted access to the pearly gates. He jumped onto his knees, startling Mike and looked around the room. He spotted some lotion on the nightstand. He reached over Mike, replacing his hands with his thighs to support Mike's. He grabbed the bottle and set it on the bed. Davy looked down and paused, absorbing the sight before him. Mike's legs were wrapped around Davy, revealing him in the best of ways. His hands were rested on his stomach, stroking in a ticklish fashion. He could see the goosebumps on his olive skin._

_"You're beautiful."_

-

Davy ran his hand up and down the waist of a woman he didn't know. It was his first time attending one of Peter's free love parties. He couldn't count how many girls he'd gone through, they all seemed to mesh together into this morphing beast as the night carried on. Taking one bit of his soul as he fell into the arms of another girl, he was nothing more than a name to tick off on the list. He stared out at the Los Angeles hills, shining bright sun into the penthouse. People grumbled and made hushed sounds as they got up and returned to their normal lives, clothes bundled in their arms. 

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." the woman whispered, Davy's hand stopped moving. 

"What?" Davy whispered back, dropping his hand. She turned around, and he wanted to throw himself into a void somewhere. She had a black pixie with bangs over her dark eyes. She licked her small lips. 

"You said Mike when we were..." Davy dropped her gaze immediately. He focused on his hand, the black sapphire ring on his finger. She carried on despite it. 

"Makes sense. You only shacked up with black haired chicks all night. Thought it was strange since you passed up some busty redheads." She said, deep in thought. Despite her looks, she was far from the quiet Mike who bottled everything inside until it blew up in a Hindenburg kind of way. Instead of a Texan accent, it was a thick New Jersey one. Davy got up quickly and started looking through piles of clothes. The mysterious girl sat up, criss-cross, evidently not much minding her nakedness. 

"Times are a-changing. Sucks though. He's got Pharrah....?" Her lack of fan obsession was reassuring but he knew he was in deep trouble having broken the rule he swore to keep. He was going to have to keep himself under pad and lock at this point. Mike had infected him on a primal level, all he could think about was Texan-twinged. 

"Please don't-" 

"Hey, don't worry. Told you already. Secret's safe. Just if ya need anybody to talk to, I know it ain't easy makin' it queer in this hetero Hollywood. Trust me." She said. A tall redhead woman tiptoed past and winked at her before disappearing out the window. The black haired girl winked back and returned a smile to Davy, whose mouth had dropped. 

"What's your name?" he asked. 

"Gertrude Grunky. Terrible affliction of a name, easy to find in the phone book though." She said, putting her finger to temple. As if it were something brilliant. Could be for all Davy knew. He finally found his white flare pants and button up. He shucked his pants on. 

"It was nice to meet you." Davy said, nodding to Gertrude. 

"Everything you say sounds like one of those BBC newsreels. Groovy meetin' you too." Gertrude said with a chuckle. Davy began tip toeing through the penthouse, over beach babes and surfer dudes, hippies and mods, rockers and the like. All walks of life could accept differences when there was fellatio involved, Davy supposed. He finally reached the front door when he heard the sound of a 1967 Buick Riviera, rumbling to a halt outside. Everything ran cold as he looked out the window and saw Mike get out of the car. He watched the man put his keys in his back pocket. He was dressed so casual, it surprised Davy. It'd been months since he last saw Mike wearing jeans and a tee. 

Mike began to walk towards the front door and Davy panicked, cursing himself for staring. He tried to cut upstairs, maybe hide in a bedroom but he only made it a couple steps before a friendly hand patted his shoulder. 

"Ah, how do you do this fine morn, Britain's finest?" Peter asked, voice high pitched and snobbish. He would quip back with something equally snobbish if it weren't for the fact he was about to scream as the door opened. The easy going smile wiped off Mike's face as he entered the house, eyes landing on Davy. He noted the hard grasp Peter had on his shoulder know. Davy realized all too late he'd been stooped. 

"Seems we're three fourths of a monkey here." Peter stated, shaking Davy slightly. Mike didn't stay zeroed on Davy's face for long, nose wrinkling as he looked around. Once he saw the underwear hanging off the doorknob he had a death grip on, he lifted his hand as if burned. 

"Harems, Peter? It's nine." 

"Wasn't last night, was it, Davy?" Peter smiled. Mike's eye twitched. Davy wanted to die. 

"No, quarter to five. About." Davy forced, smiling through teeth. Mike sighed. Davy noted the songbook in his hand. "Got some new songs?" 

Mike's grip on the songbook tightened and Davy's heart shattered. He could remember a time when Mike would smile and they'd jump right into it. He feared their days of jamming together were over before they had ever really begun. He had been ecstatic the first time all of them had started working like a real band. Hours spent in the recording studio, at each other's home, enraptured by the art of music.

"Yeah, a couple." Mike said nonchalant, feigning normalcy in the most basic of ways. A half naked couple walked up to the front door. Mike stepped fully into the house and they exited. The disgusted look on Mike's face made Davy want to bath. 

"I need to-" 

"Why don't we all jam?" Peter cut Davy off, "Micky's coming over in five. Everybody's gonna be out of here by then." 

"Five minutes? You have half of Los Angeles in here, man." Mike quipped. 

"Half is a perception of reality respective to its owner." Peter stated. Mike squinted at his friend. Davy broke free from his grasp. 

"You fellas have a jam, I have to bath. Ta." Davy said and rushed out the front door. He knew he should be crass and proud of his night of ladies, being able to fuck his way through a group. Prove to Mike he still was a well equipped man, horny and fully moved on. But the disgust on Mike's face made him feel like a leper, begging the weak for relief. He felt shame course through, cut deep. It brought him back to his childhood, the strict talks with his father over masturbation and sex. Be clean. Be pure.

He called Gertrude when he got home. 


End file.
